


wrecked to your bones

by redluxite (wordstruck)



Series: VLD One-Shots [15]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Dom Shiro (Voltron), Hella Lot of Foreplay, Light Bondage, Lingerie, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Work, Sex Work Positive, Suit Kink, Suit Porn, Teasing, Top Shiro (Voltron), lap dance, stripper!Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14965814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/redluxite
Summary: The wholeperformanceis breathtaking; Shiro’s never seen someone move like this, fluid and sinuous, so in tune with the sharp rhythm of the song. He watches as the man pushes up off the floor on one hand and onto his front – then kicks up one foot after another – then pushes up on a knee to land kneeling up, hips and torso rolling deliciously. The man turns, one hand snapping out to catch the pole, and sweeps to his feet. He falls into a graceful spin, landing only briefly before rolling forward onto hands and knees.When his head snaps up, his eyes lock onto Shiro’s.Before Shiro can think, can glance around, the man crawls forward. He holds Shiro’s gaze as he moves to the edge of the stage and then slips off, easing himself to the carpeted floor. Four quick steps bring him right in front of Shiro, who’s forgotten to breathe, to even blink, transfixed as he is by the ethereal creature who’s smirking at him as he leans forward——and slides right into Shiro’s lap.(Shiro sees Keith in a club and thinks, he'sgotto have Keith for at least a night.)





	wrecked to your bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mondaijo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondaijo/gifts).



> This was just supposed to be a quick PWP about Keith being a club performer and Shiro watching one of his shows, but when have I ever done either quick or PWP. So now we have 5k+ of a lot of foreplay and Shiro basically worshipping Keith, because this is what I do. (Ftr, I refer to this as the "stripper!Keith fic" on social media but it is also 100% the "put Shiro in really good suits fic" bc what I don't have a suit kink, shut up.)
> 
> Shoutout to Andy for waiting outside my window this long skldjskad I hope the wait is worth it.
> 
> Some notes: Keith is dancing to [Believer by Imagine Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wtfhZwyrcc), which has a gorgeous beat that I love for choreo. Keith's moves and performance are taken from some of the choreo I've done/learned – namely, [this](https://twitter.com/okw_tr/status/938031910483136512) [choreo](https://twitter.com/okw_tr/status/938043866061484033) (set to Believer!) and [this sequence](https://twitter.com/okw_tr/status/900711629985153024). Because this is what we do with my dance experience; we make fics out of it.
> 
> Currently unbeta'd so I'll edit retrospectively as needed. And tag retrospectively as needed, although I _don't_ think I missed anything... I hope.

* * *

 

Arusia is unexpectedly tasteful, which, for Shiro, is a pleasant surprise.

When Matt had mentioned taking him to a new club, he’d expected it to be more like Dom Beata or Valkyrie – loud music, thumping bass beats, the press of too many bodies and the heat that clung to skin. But Arusia is understated, a simple and muted facade, with a single, stoic bouncer standing in front of the doors.

A valet exits the tinted doors as they roll to a stop in the driveway – already an indication that this isn’t a typical club, not to mention the lack of a line outside the entrance. They open Shiro’s door first, before going round to let Matt out of his ridiculously extravagant open-top Aston Martin.

( _Might as well put my patent profits to use,_ his friend had said when he’d pulled up in the DB11 four months ago, after which he’d bent all of his considerable skills – and his sister’s – into tricking it out even better than the British manufacturers had made it. The end result is a burnished chrome exterior and entirely too much power under the hood, and Shiro still thinks it’s all a bit much, but Matt’s expression while watching Pidge tinker to her heart’s content had said it’s all been worth it.

“Did you really get a disgustingly expensive car just so Pidge could upgrade it,” Shiro had said wryly, giving his friend a teasing, sideways glance.

“It’s a perfectly good car,” Matt had replied blandly, but his ears had been pink.)

Matt deposits the keys to his car into the hopefully-capable hands of the valet while Shiro stands at the bottom of the club’s steps and fiddles with the cuff of his coat. His friend’s wink as he comes up to Shiro, tipping his head in the direction of the entrance, isn’t very reassuring.

The bouncer gives them a once-over before stepping back and holding open the door.

The lobby is as neat as the exterior, with cream walls and bronze accents. The room is dominated by a desk, at which sits a man with a violently ginger moustache.

“Hello, Coran,” Matt calls, striding to the desk.

“Ah, Matt!” The man – Coran – straightens and smiles genially. His eyes flick over to Shiro briefly. “Brought a friend with you this time?”

“Yep.” Matt flashes Shiro a grin over his shoulder as he takes the pad that Coran slides over, signing without looking. One more use for those patent profits of his, Shiro supposes, corner of his mouth quirking up. Matt passes the pad back and tips his head to the side. “Is Allura here?”

“In the back,” Coran answers ruefully. “She might come by later, though.”

Matt shrugs good-naturedly. “Shiro can meet her another time.”

“Indeed.” Coran gives Shiro another once-over before giving a brief, polite incline of his head. “Pleasure to meet you, Shiro.”

“Likewise,” Shiro replies, smiling.

“Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.” Coran gestures them to another set of tinted doors to the side. Matt gives him a sporting salute, before glancing back at Shiro and nodding towards the doors. Shiro exhales a smile and shrugs, but he follows.

They pass through a softly carpeted corridor – done in equally-minimalist cream and bronze – in which Shiro can faintly hear a heady music beat. At the end is a set of wood doors and another attendant, who bows politely as she lets them into the next room.

Matt slows down, giving Shiro enough time to take in the main area of Arusia.

In contrast to the muted lobby and the hallway, the interior is deliberately vivid and _sensual_ – the carpeting is a lush, deep wine red, with lighter shades for accents over the walls. The bar has a distinct luxurious wood grain that Shiro can pick out even from across the room. The chairs and couches, set up around small tables, are all in dark shades of grey and red-violet, all arranged around a stage that dominates the leftmost wall, with a wide catwalk leading to the center of the room. There’s a single pole at the end of it, extending all the way to the ceiling. A slow, seductive beat fills the air.

“Well?” Shiro looks over his shoulder to see Matt smirking at him, one eyebrow quirked expectantly.

He turns back to survey the room, mouth pinched over a smile.

“Not what I expected when you said we’d be going to a club tonight,” he finally answers, and Matt laughs.

“Figured it’d be a nice change of pace.” Matt’s grin doesn’t fade as they check their coats in. The whole place makes Shiro understand why Matt had been insistent on dressing up – he feels less out of place in his [charcoal gray jacket](https://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g2-M01-0B-09-rBVaGlYyJPWAfQ9pAADFErCwlGs247.jpg/3-pieces-dark-gray-tuxedos-for-men-slim-fit.jpg), left open over a pale gray dress shirt and suspenders. He’d forgone a bowtie in favor of a rather bold [deep plum necktie](https://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g4-M01-92-77-rBVaEVgHf_OAbvhsAAKAAAeywhE906.jpg/new-striped-plum-purple-men-039-s-tie-formal.jpg) with extremely thin silver striping, although he’s still a picture of subtlety beside Matt’s [hunter green](https://image.dhgate.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g4-M01-67-35-rBVaEFnoQomASFrKAADsAkNPn-s124.jpg/men-slim-fit-dark-green-suit-2017-fashion.jpg), [thick-and-thin pinstripes](https://www.mensusa.com/images/image32621.jpg) and cream-on-cream shirt and tie.

“I see,” he replies, faintly and belatedly, staring around the interior again as Matt leads him to the bar. He doesn’t pay attention to what his friend is ordering – he usually orders a craft beer, and Matt usually overrides him with something stronger – instead focusing on the stage and the audience. There’s a fair crowd present, but the stage is still empty, the overhead lights shining off the white wood floor.

“Come along.” Matt snags his attention back, affecting a horrible posh accent as he pushes a glass into Shiro’s hand. He takes an absent-minded sip while following Matt to a pair of armchairs near the very end of the catwalk, with a perfect view. _Smoked whiskey,_ he notes with a slight roll of his eyes. Trust Matt to go the whole nine yards; indulgence is his friend’s worst habit.

(Still, Shiro never really minds.)

A few minutes after they get settled, the lights in the room dim. The atmosphere shifts, an electric current of anticipation and excitement running through the room. Shiro takes a quick glance around himself before turning his attention to the stage just as all the lights go out.

When the stage lights come back on, there’s a black chair in the middle. And sitting in it is the most exquisite person Shiro has ever seen.

He’s – stunning. Shiro almost forgets to breathe as he gets a good look. Dark hair curls in wisps around fine-boned features. A simple, oversized white button-down, with sleeves hastily cuffed, falls open over a black mesh shirt and simple black boyshorts. Long, _long_ legs are carelessly sprawled open, with a [ruffled plum garter](https://www.yacanna.com/image/cache/catalog/LR/plum-garter-750x750.jpg) encircling one plush thigh. The man wears nothing else but the sheen of the lights and a light flush of color on his skin.

Shiro’s startled from his daze by the sharp sound of a drum beat. For a moment, the man on the stage simply sits still. Then there’s the briefest flash of a grin, and he _moves._

There’s no easing into the performance, no slow build-up; the man leans down and flattens his hands, one after the other, onto the stage floor, before dropping into a front straddle. Then he lifts up on an arm, threading one leg underneath to meet the other, before fanning both of them through the air. He leans back, lifts a leg high; Shiro gets caught tracing up a slender calf with his gaze and wondering what it would _feel_ under his palm, his mouth. He watches as the man eases himself back into the chair, perched sideways, and leans back with one arm extended overhead, turning him into one supple line from outstretched fingers to arched hips.

When the man slides back to the floor, running hands up his thighs, then pushing his knees open in a tease before snapping them shut—

Shiro can’t tear his eyes away.

His breathing comes heavy, controlled, by the time the man rises gracefully to his feet and takes soft, deliberate steps to the pole at the end of the catwalk. From this distance, seated as near as they are to the stage, Shiro gets a much better look.

He’s breathtaking.

The whole _performance_ is breathtaking; Shiro’s never seen someone move like this, fluid and sinuous, so in tune with the sharp rhythm of the song. He watches as the man pushes up off the floor on one hand and onto his front – then kicks up one foot after another – then pushes up on a knee to land kneeling up, hips and torso rolling deliciously. The man turns, one hand snapping out to catch the pole, and sweeps to his feet. He falls into a graceful spin, landing only briefly before rolling forward onto hands and knees.

When his head snaps up, his eyes lock onto Shiro’s.

Before Shiro can think, can glance around, the man crawls forward. He holds Shiro’s gaze as he moves to the edge of the stage and then slips off, easing himself to the carpeted floor. Four quick steps bring him right in front of Shiro, who’s forgotten to breathe, to even blink, transfixed as he is by the ethereal creature who’s smirking at him as he leans forward—

—and slides right into Shiro’s lap.

“Hey there,” comes a soft, lilting voice in his ear. It sends a tremor down his spine, a frisson of something electric up his skin. He opens his mouth to reply but his voice gets caught in his throat. The man in his lap laughs, a wicked sound that sends the heat through Shiro like a lightning strike.

His hands twitch towards the man's hips, but slender fingers catch his and push his hands back down by his side. The man clicks his tongue, a sharp noise in time with the song. “No touching,” he murmurs, flicking mischievous eyes at Shiro. There's a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth. Shiro wants to kiss it off.

Instead he tucks his hands down by his thighs and lean back with more confidence than he actually feels. The man smiles approvingly, then runs his hands through Shiro's hair.

“Good boy,” he says smugly, and Shiro would retort but then he starts to _move._

It's the worst kind of tease – the man is braced up on his knees, legs either side of Shiro's lap, keeping contact to a minimum. But the way those hips move, the subtle rise and fall of his lower body – the arch as he leans back, chin tipped down to keep eyes on Shiro, body a long fluid curve from collar to thighs – the way the white shirt has fallen down his arms, baring shoulders and a collarbone that are _begging_ to be marked – the sheen of the yellow light on his skin, painting him rose and gold and making Shiro itch to feel what all that supple skin would feel like under his palms—

All too soon, the little lap dance is done, and Shiro's tormenter places a single, chaste kiss on his cheek before sliding out of his lap.

Shiro _does_ feel bad that he's walking away, but it's also one hell of a view.

The man exits the room via a small door to the side of the stage without another backwards glance. Shiro keeps staring until an unsubtle cough to his right breaks his trance. He startles and looks over to see Matt smirking, mouth pinched in that way Shiro knows means he's trying not to laugh.

“Enjoying yourself?” Matt asks, like butter wouldn't melt.

Shiro briefly considers pouring his drink onto his friend, then decides it would be a waste of good whiskey. He takes a pointed sip, avoiding Matt's eyes.

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, Matt doesn't even bother to be quiet as he cracks up.

 

Shiro would feel more embarrassed about having a quick and dirty wank in a posh lavatory, but after what just happened, he thinks he can be forgiven. The handful of lube packets in a sleek wooden bowl vindicate him, too. He spares himself any finesse, simply unzipping his trousers and shoving a slicked hand down to stroke his cock to full hardness. As the movements of his hand get rougher, Shiro shuts his eyes and lets his mind wander – to the thought of lush thighs in his hands, a white shirt falling from slender shoulders; the sleek expanse of bare skin poured out like a fine wine for him to drink up. Startling violet-grey eyes that flick up to him with just a touch of mischief, as plush, pink lips close over his cock—

Shiro groans into his fist as he comes to the image of the man swallowing around his cock, harder than he’s come in a while. His hips stutter, fingers twisting over his length just right and getting covered in damp stickiness. It’s a few moments before he catches his breath, one hand braced on the bathroom counter.

Belatedly, he realizes he should have at least asked the man for his name.

He rinses his hand off in the sink and wipes himself off as best as he can, tucking himself back into his trousers. He looks just a little worse for the wear, but Shiro can’t bring himself to mind completely. He splashes some more water on his face, slicks back his hair. Exhales long and deliberate.

When he exits the bathroom, he pauses for a moment – then turns left, heading for the lobby. Matt can wait for him a little longer.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro returns to Arusia the next night, he’s alone.

He hasn’t told Matt that he’s coming, although he knows his friend will find out sooner or later. Still, Shiro prefers to keep this little excursion to himself for as long as possible. He hands over the keys to his less ostentatious car to the valet, nods to the bouncer as he heads inside. Coran looks up as he enters the lobby.

“Right on time, Shiro,” the man says, grinning at him knowingly. Shiro feels his cheeks heat up, just a bit.

“Hello, Coran,” he replies, a bit over-formally, which just makes Coran laugh.

This time, Coran hands over a black clipboard instead of a pad. There’s a single sheet of paper clipped to it, outlining the details for the night. No cheap ballpoint pen tied to the clip here; Coran holds out a sleek Montblanc for Shiro to sign. Once he’s done that, Coran takes the clipboard back and turns over an electronic keycard.

“Last room, down the corridor,” Coran says, gesturing to another set of tinted doors opposite where Shiro and Matt had entered last night. He tucks the signed document into a drawer and winks at Shiro. “Enjoy yourself.”

If Shiro were as suave as he likes to think he is, he’d probably give a more witty or lewd retort. As it is, he just smiles and pockets the keycard, nodding.

“I will.”

 

The interior of the private room is as sensual and posh as Arusia’s main space.

Shiro stands by the door and takes it all in – the burgundy sheets and pillows on the large bed, the teak wood furnishings; the sleek cream settee tucked on the wall beside the door. There’s a bottle of Veuve in a bucket on the table in front it, with two flutes and what looks like a bowl of small, unwrapped chocolates. A slow, heavy, seductive beat fills the air.

Somehow, Shiro feels he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

He shucks his [deep purple jacket](http://www.jbsuits.com/product_images/m/118/slim-fit-3-piece-suit__31844_std.jpg) and drapes it over the arm of the settee, keeps the matching vest and the [gunmetal grey tie](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0669/6583/products/gunmetal-solid-color-necktie-vegan-cyberoptix-03-web_9611e789-1dd2-4ec7-99f4-6abbac622b28_1024x1024.jpg?v=1512162630). There’s a moment’s debate before he rolls up the sleeves of his lilac-grey dress shirt. Another moment before he decides to just sit on the edge of the bed, and wait for Keith.

 _Keith._ Shiro hasn’t been able to get the man out of his mind since last night. Whenever he closes his eyes or lets his mind wander too long his thoughts inevitably stray to Keith, to long legs and lightly tanned skin and slim hips. Shiro had gotten off once more in the shower this morning, picturing Keith on his knees in front of him, clever tongue working him in all the right places until Shiro was coming down his throat.

He shifts on the bed, adjusting himself in his trousers. Probably not the best idea to get ahead, not if he wants to make the most of tonight.

Then the door opens, and most thought leaves Shiro’s mind.

On the stage, Keith had been beautiful, a vision under the bright lights. Up close, he’s positively stunning. Shiro half-holds his breath as he looks Keith over, drinks in the [oversized dress shirt the color of sangria](https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/XoQAAOSw5cNYPbJw/s-l300.jpg), the [matching ruffled garter](https://img.etsystatic.com/il/7f4306/1443590524/il_570xN.1443590524_8e8k.jpg?version=0) on one thigh. Black boyshorts peek out from under the shirt hem.

Other than that, Keith’s got nothing else on. He walks into the room on bare feet. There’s a pause as he stands in front of the doorway and drags his gaze over Shiro, slowly. Whatever he finds, he apparently likes it, because he lets the door fall shut with a smirk.

They stay like that for a moment, Keith standing near the door and Shiro sitting on the bed. Then four quick steps take Keith right in front of Shiro and – with no preamble, in a surprising parallel to last night – he slides right into Shiro’s lap.

“You know, since you didn’t take the opening last night,” Keith says, reaching down to play with the buttons on Shiro’s vest. He lifts his gaze to meet Shiro’s, corner of his mouth quirked. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“What can I say?” Shiro grins up at Keith, sliding his palms up Keith’s thighs until he reaches the garter. He swipes a thumb over the slight indentation of skin, leaning in to mouth a hot line over a slender collar. “You made me a believer.”

Keith’s answering laugh is startled but easy. “Did I, now,” he murmurs, carding his fingers through Shiro’s hair and arching forwards, so his cock presses against Shiro’s abdomen.

“Mm.” Shiro forgoes a proper verbal answer in favor of biting at Keith’s shoulder, moving his hands up to grab two handfuls of a pert ass. Keith's skin feels as plush and delectable as he’d imagined, and he takes full advantage of his license to touch. He shifts his hands so he can tuck fingers under the hem of Keith’s [tight boyshorts](http://static.dudeiwantthat.com/img/style/clothing/manties-mens-lace-boxers-18540.jpg) – which Shiro now realizes are _lace,_ heaven help him – only for Keith’s mouth to twist in amusement, hands circling Shiro’s wrists and pulling them away.

“Easy,” he chides, mock-frowning at Shiro. In contrast with his words, though, he untucks Shiro’s tie from the vest and starts to undo the cross knot. As he works, he asks, casually, “did Coran give you the rules?”

Shiro nods. Coran had given him the document last night, and the list had been on the contract he’d signed upon entering just a while ago. Condoms unless Keith agrees otherwise. (Coran had requested medical records; Shiro admittedly admires the thoroughness.) No permanent marks, no injury; nothing that would leave Keith unable to work or move the next day. No blindfolds unless Keith clears it, but other forms of restraint allowed. No turning out the lights.

Other than that, everything’s on the table.

Reading the list for the first time, Shiro had been surprised by how – short it is. Now, however, he’s thankful for all the leeway. He doesn’t doubt the room is well-stocked, that the table beside the bed holds some _interesting_ supplies alongside the staple lube and condoms.

He hopes he’ll get to use some of them, but for now, all he wants is this gorgeous man underneath him, and _soon._

This time, Keith’s smile is more honest and unrestrained, a flash of teeth. “Good.” He slips the tie from around Shiro’s neck and lets it pool on the sheets beside them.

Shiro takes that as his cue.

He surges forward, splaying one hand on the small of Keith’s back while the other does what he’s wanted to do since Keith had first slipped into his lap – he winds his fingers into Keith’s soft hair and _pulls._ It drags a startled, broken noise from Keith that Shiro chases with a kiss, and then another. He bites at that plush lower lip, tugging at it then sucking, before crushing their mouths together.

Keith, blessedly, lets himself go pliant in Shiro’s arms. He kisses back as good as he gets, though, running his tongue over Shiro’s teeth and moaning into the kiss, a sound that sharpens the heat pooling in Shiro’s gut. His hitched gasp when Shiro pulls them apart is beautiful, as is the stuttering noise he makes when Shiro presses his open mouth to Keith’s neck and sinks teeth into skin.

“ _God,_ that’s good,” Keith breathes out, arching closer against Shiro. His hands fumble over Shiro’s chest until he can find the buttons of the vest again, flicking them open one by one as Shiro sucks marks down his throat. They break apart briefly so Keith can ease the vest off Shiro’s arms and toss it aside carelessly. It lands on the floor.

Shiro raises an eyebrow, sliding his hands back over Keith’s thighs and hauling him closer. “That was expensive,” he mutters mock-chidingly, nipping at Keith’s collarbone and squeezing just under his ass.

Keith just snorts in response, tugging at Shiro’s white fringe. “So buy a new one,” he retorts, before slotting their mouths back together.

That prompts a short bark of laughter from Shiro, and he can’t restrain a smile as he presses a close-lipped kiss to Keith’s mouth. “Brat,” he says, giving Keith another squeeze. Then he pulls his hands away.

“Off,” he commands, tugging at the hem of Keith’s button-down. He leans back on his hands and quirks an eyebrow. The smirk that unfurls over Keith’s mouth, when he realizes what Shiro’s getting at, is positively impish.

“Yes, sir,” Keith says, biting his lip, and _oh_ that isn’t fair, not at all.

Keith rises up on his knees, holding Shiro’s gaze as he bites his lip and slowly raises hands to the buttons of his shirt. He takes his time pushing each one through the hole, flicking them open so the shirt front parts more the lower he goes. Every so often his hands ghost down to other parts of his body – smoothing the shirt over his chest, running down to his thighs, palming himself through those lace boyshorts. It’s a show and it’s all for Shiro, who drinks him in like a heady champagne.

“Gorgeous,” Shiro breathes out, reaching a hand out to run his thumb under the strap of the garter again. It looks delicious around Keith’s thigh, the deep red a lush contrast. Shiro thinks about taking teeth to it and pulling it off, the barest drag over Keith’s leg as he moves down.

Maybe later. They’ve got time.

The last button goes, and Keith lithely shrugs his shoulders, making the shirt slip off to pool around his elbows. Shiro pushes it all the way off, leaning forward to bite over a nipple and scratch lightly at Keith’s waist.

“Mm.” Keith arches into the touch, tipping his head back. Shiro takes the silent invitation and mouths his way upwards, licking over the marks he’s already left. Keith is delectable, and now that he’s laid almost bare for Shiro to see, he wants even more.

Shiro’s eyes flicking up and a wicked little grin are all the warnings Keith gets before Shiro wraps one hand around Keith’s thigh and braces the other arm around his waist. One deft twist and Keith is sprawled out on the sheets, chest rising and falling sharply. Shiro takes a few moments to savor that vision – the way the red looks against Keith’s skin, the way his hair fans out around his head; the way his cock tents the fronts of his boyshorts obscenely. Laid out like this, all sharp lines and curves sketched out as if in fine pencil, he’s the most exquisite thing.

So Shiro doesn’t resist, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses from ankle to calf to knee. He bites the garter and eases it down an inch, then licks over lightly-sensitized skin. He huffs a hot breath through the lace fabric of Keith’s boyshorts, nosing down from the ridge of his hipbone to the crease of his thigh. He litters hickeys and bite marks up a slender torso, slides his fingers under Keith’s leg and hitches it up around his waist. By the time he makes it to Keith’s neck, pressing teeth over his pulse, Keith is a shaking, panting _wreck._

It’s exactly how Shiro wants him.

“Shiro.” It’s the first time Keith’s said his name all night, and just the sound of it makes Shiro burn hotter. The way it sounds, the way it’s shaped in Keith’s voice—

“Again,” Shiro mutters, rolling his hips down into Keith’s so their cocks rub against each other.

Keith gasps, chasing the friction. “ _Shiro,_ ” he breathes out, sultry and filthy and teasing all at once. Shiro bites a groan into his throat and grinds his hips down again.

“Fuck.” He pushes up abruptly, needing a little space before he gets too far ahead. Shiro presses a hard-edged kiss to Keith’s mouth before half-rising off the bed, looking at the bedside table. “How do you want this?”

In response, Keith quirks an eyebrow; one corner of his mouth lifts in a catty little smirk. He reaches a hand out and finds the discarded tie, then loops it around Shiro’s neck. One tug, and Shiro’s forced to brace a hand on the bed to stop himself from falling onto Keith.

“I didn’t want to presume,” Keith says quietly, ghosting his lips up Shiro’s jaw so he’s murmuring the words right into Shiro’s ear, “but you could absolutely fuck me right now and I’d be perfectly fine.”

He lets the tie slip from around Shiro’s neck and lies back down, looking at Shiro meaningfully. Shiro stares down at him for a long moment until the pieces click into place, and then—

“ _Fuck,_ ” he says again, shattered and breathless, and then he _does_ drop down over Keith, biting into his mouth and grinding their cocks together. The visual of Keith all alone, fingering himself open, knowing Shiro had bought him out for the night, knowing it would be _Shiro_ he’d be spending the night with—

Keith grins, flicks his tongue over his lips, and Shiro thinks this man will be the death of him.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath; tucks his head into the crook of Keith’s neck and nips lightly at skin. “How do you want this?” he asks again, when he can speak.

Keith turns his head and steals another kiss, rough and filthy. When he pulls away, he looks absolutely debauched – lips spit-slick and kiss-bruised, hair a mess, eyes wild and skin flushed all over.

He’s breathtaking.

There’s a pause, then a slow smile spreads over that pretty little mouth.

“However you want me.”

 

Shiro takes a moment to admire how good the gunmetal grey tie looks twisted and tied around Keith’s wrists, pulling his arms together and forcing his back into a shallow arch. They’re both kneeling up on the bed, Shiro still almost fully dressed and Keith in just the boyshorts and garter. Keith has his back to Shiro, but Shiro can still feel his quick, shallow breaths as Shiro pulls him so they rest chest-to-back, Shiro’s fingers reaching under lace fabric to toy with the slickness of Keith’s ass.

“Gorgeous,” he says again, breathing the word against Keith’s throat, even as Keith whimpers in pleasure. Shiro’s fingers stroke idly over his entrance, brushing over puckered skin but never pushing in, delicious torture. Keith tries to chase his touch but Shiro stills his hand, pulling a soft, broken sound from Keith’s throat.

“Now, now,” Shiro chides, sliding his hand over to twist a nipple between his fingers. Keith cries out, pushing into the touch. Shiro follows it up with a bite to his shoulder, and the noise Keith makes is positively wounded.

But Shiro takes his time, indulging in the different things he’s thought of ever since this pretty little thing had appeared on the stage in front of him and stolen his breath away. He drags his palms over Keith’s skin, kisses over freckled shoulders, teases and teases at Keith’s hole until Keith is almost begging for it, all hitched gasps and shattered noises. Keith is all too easy to worship and _want,_ in a way that burns Shiro right to the bones.

He undoes the tie from Keith’s wrists, presses butterfly-light kisses to the soft skin there. Eager fingers shove the boyshorts down his thighs, until they’re low enough for Keith to wriggle out of them. Then a hard shove knocks Keith down onto the bed, and they’re both done playing.

When he eases into Keith, all tight heat and skin on skin, the shout he drags from Keith’s lips is almost enough to make him come.

He saves slow for another time – and there _will_ be another time, if Shiro has anything to say about it – fucking into Keith with a brutal pace. He hitches one of Keith’s legs up with a wide palm under his thigh, then threads the other one in Keith’s hair and _pulls._ He swallows Keith’s cry with a bruising kiss, dragging his tongue against the other man’s and biting hard down on his lip. He’s still almost fully clothed, trousers unzipped and shoved down just enough to free his cock. Not that Keith seems to mind in the slightest. He has his arms wound around Shiro’s shoulders, nails digging into the meat of his back, panting open-mouthed against Shiro’s skin. One of his feet is planted on the bed so he can rolls his hips up into Shiro’s thrusts.

On another night, Shiro will take him apart. He’ll pour Keith out onto these burgundy sheets and take his time, all light and teasing touches, until Keith is a shivering, over-stimulated _wreck._ He’ll get Keith off with his mouth; with a tongue and fingers in his ass, opening him up nice and slow. He’ll tie Keith up and have his way with the man, bringing Keith to the edge again and again until all Keith can say is his name.

For now, though, Shiro braces up on his knees and slides his hands to Keith’s hips. “I wonder if you’ll scream for me,” he muses, a little breathlessly, before biting down on Keith’s collar and then Keith _does_ scream as Shiro straightens up and hauls him into his lap.

“Good boy,” Shiro says, and Keith comes just like that, writhing and sobbing his name.

“Fuck, god, _Shiro–_ ”

“I got you.” Shiro eases him back down, blanketing Keith with his body and kissing him, hard and sweet. A few more thrusts and he follows, muffling a shout in Keith’s shoulder as his hips stutter and he comes hard into Keith, fingers digging into hips hard enough to bruise.

They take a few long moments to catch their breaths, chests heaving. Then Shiro pulls out of Keith carefully, softening cock slipping out with a sticky trickle of cum. He tips to the side, rolling Keith with him so he can tuck his chin over Keith’s head. One hand pets lightly at Keith’s side, soothing, as they try to come down from the high.

When he’s got some composure back, Shiro presses a quick kiss to the top of Keith’s head and leans away so he can look at him.

“You okay?” he asks, smoothing his thumb over the curve of Keith’s hip.

“Mm.” Keith smiles contentedly and wriggles his hips, humming in pleasure. He tips his head up to kiss Shiro, pushing in harder until Shiro’s on his back and Keith’s rolled on top of him. He straddles Shiro, hands braced on Shiro’s broad chest, as the kiss dissolves into tiny nips and laughter.

Shiro slides his hands back to Keith’s thighs, to where the garter’s been dislodged and hangs a little loose just above his knee. He looks back up at Keith, lips pinched around a smirk.

“I still have you for the rest of the night, you know,” he says, low and promising. It’s not too late, and the room is booked for a few hours yet. The ice in the champagne bucket has probably melted, but Shiro can always order another bottle. The chocolates are still uneaten. He hasn’t even checked inside the bedside table yet.

Keith’s answering grin is wicked and eager. His body’s littered with marks from Shiro’s hands and mouth; his hair is a riot of curls around his face. He rolls his hips once, just a little, pushing his ass down against Shiro’s cock. Against the odds, Shiro finds himself twitching in interest.

“I know,” Keith replies, carelessly against the hunger that hasn’t abated in his eyes. He runs an idle finger down Shiro’s chest, to where the dark thatch of hair starts at his navel. “Got any ideas for how we could spend our time?”

Little minx. Shiro laughs under his breath, then sits up suddenly. His hands find Keith’s ass and squeeze; his lips brush over Keith’s, the faintest kiss.

“I’ve got some.”

Keith smirks and presses against Shiro, one hand toying with the collar of his shirt. He trails his fingers down the line of Shiro’s neck, making him shiver.

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked the fic bc I honestly don't know how it got away from me HAHAHA. I'm even sitting here considering writing future chapters where Shiro comes back to Keith again, maybe takes him out for the night, brings him home... (which, bad, this is not what I'm supposed to be working on sjhdashd).
> 
> Anyway!! Come say hi on social media! You can find me on Twitter as [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) and Tumblr as [plstskys](https://plstskys.tumblr.com). You can check there for ways to support my writing (eg ask me to write your porn XD)!
> 
>  **Addendum!!** If you like this and you want more content, I'm talking about this AU and expanded details + additional plot ideas over on my NSFW Twit [@redluxite](https://twitter.com/redluxite). Feel free to request a follow (but 18+ only!!) to check out the threads, references, ideas, and bonus content!


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